


The Clothes Make The Man

by misha_anon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dry Humping, M/M, PWP, Panty Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:45:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_anon/pseuds/misha_anon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean gets tired of Castiel stealing his clothes and sends him to get his own, Cas comes back with a surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Clothes Make The Man

**Author's Note:**

> For a friend because she's sick and wants to read about Cas in panties. <3

After three weeks of having Castiel in the bunker, Dean’s closet was dangerously bare.  Sure, he told Cas  _once_  that he could borrow a shirt.  How one shirt one time morphed into “where the hell are my clothes” was a bit of a mystery, though.  Sam had grudgingly agreed to take Castiel shopping and within three days, Dean had managed to reacquire most of his clothing.

Two days after that, Castiel knocks on Dean’s bedroom door in the wee hours of the morning.  Dean is still awake, sprawled in his chair with a book when he grunts an invitation to come in.  Cas, wearing a bathrobe that is only half closed, bursts through the door and closes it quickly behind him.

“Dean, I need to show you something,” Castiel says breathlessly.  His cheeks are flushed and his hair is standing at odd angles off his forehead. He closes the distance to where Dean is sitting,  the book falling by the wayside as he crawls into Dean’s lap.  

Of all the things Dean might’ve been expecting, the lacy black underwear Castiel opens his robe to reveal weren’t even on the list.  The sight of his tanned skin disappearing beneath the delicate lace, the sheen of sweat on the softness of his stomach, and the unmistakable bulge of his cock beneath the thin fabric conspire to knock the breath right out of Dean’s lungs.

“Damn,” Dean murmurs, his own cock hardening as his hands settle on Castiel’s hips.  When he strokes the pad of his thumb across the silky fabric stretched tightly over the head of Castiel’s cock, it earns him a gasp of pleasure, so he does it again.  He’s so busy making Cas squirm and whimper that he never sees the kiss coming.

Castiel dips his head, lips pressed lightly to Dean’s even as his hands move to frame Dean’s face.  When he leans up into the kiss, Castiel’s fingers tighten, pulling him into a deeper kiss.  Dean’s fingertips wander under the edge of the lace until he’s reaching under, grabbing Castiel’s ass roughly and pulling him down.  When Castiel moans, Dean swallows it; he pulls back to take a breath, watching the smooth planes of Castiel’s face twist with pleasure as he grinds in a steady rhythm, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Dean is rock hard, his cock aching from the constant pressure, but still he squeezes Castiel’s ass with one hand, grinding up as he moves his other hand to stroke Castiel’s cock through the precome wet fabric.  Castiel’s hips circle and grind, loose and obscene, as he hooks one arm around Dean’s neck, curling down to kiss again.  

It’s wet and inelegant and the way he’s moaning and shaking while he grinds against Dean’s lap and bites at his lips sends a violent shiver down Dean’s spine.  Kissing gives way to hot breath against one another’s lips, Castiel’s hips rolling at a frenzied pace to push his cock against the friction of Dean’s touch.

“ _Fuck_ , Cas,” Dean growls.  “Jesus,” he adds because it’s all his lust-addled brain can come up with.  He knows he’s dangerously close to coming in his boxers like a teenager, but he doesn’t care even a little with the way six feet of solid muscle is coming apart at the seams in his lap.  He rolls his hips up, sharp thrusts that unbalance Castiel and leave him clawing at the back of the chair, grabbing for Dean’s hair.

Their mouths collide with the unpleasant clack of teeth when Dean grabs Castiel’s ass with both hands again.  He slips his finger between spread cheeks, pressing the pad against Castiel’s tight hole rhythmically even as he pulls him forward.  Castiel moans, his cock thickening against Dean’s through their clothing just before his body seizes and shivers.  Dean is in no better shape, hot come pulsing inside his boxers, thick and wet on his skin.

Castiel’s grip on Dean’s hair and his neck is almost painful, the roll of his hips slowing even as the muscles of his ass clench and release against Dean’s fingertip.  He pulls back, panting against Dean’s lips.  Dean squeezes Castiel’s ass, earning a growl and an almost imperceptible shiver before Castiel leans in for another kiss before Dean reluctantly moves his hands.

This kiss is slow, lazy, Castiel’s tongue sliding against Dean’s until he’s lightheaded.  When he finally breaks the kiss and drops his head against the back of the chair, he slowly opens his eyes to look at Castiel.  Cas’face is flushed deep red, his hair even messier than before, and he’s watching Dean with a lazy smile.

“I'm glad you decided to show me,” Dean says with a grin, fingertip trailing across the boundary between lace and skin. 

“I thought it was important that you see,” Cas murmurs, covering Dean’s hand with his own. 


End file.
